Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

He seemed set to list every species in the country, but Clark Webster rose from behind him, grabbing the mic and interrupting with an impatient sigh.

“And I’ll just put in a reminder — since Mart hasn’t mentioned it — that the welcome party is tonight in the casino lounge. It’s a great chance for all of us to get to know each other a little better. I realize some of you have been along on other treks but for many of you this is your first Rochester Zoo adventure.”

I shifted in my seat, craning my neck for a better view of the director. A rangy six feet or so, he was in his early fifties and clearly worked to keep himself in shape. His blond hair, liberally sprinkled with gray, was cut short and tapered. When he spoke, his voice held just a trace of an accent. I couldn’t place it and made a note to find out later where he’d been raised. Outside the States, I’d guess.

Now Clark tipped his head in my direction. “For those of you who don’t already know, we have a celebrity in our midst. Ms. Allison Belsar of the
Rochester Breeze
will be sending dispatches home every day.”

Caught off guard by the introduction and wishing I’d thought to comb my hair, I waved to the group.

“I’m sure she’ll be eager to speak to each one of you during our journey,” Clark went on, looking to me for confirmation.

“Definitely,” I said, beaming my biggest, most welcoming smile, and trying to look at everyone at once.

Next, he gestured to the well-dressed woman in coral in the seat beside his. Unrumpled, lipstick in place, and with her hair sprayed into a casual tumble, she looked fabulous.

“I’m lucky enough to have my dear wife, Sylvia, along for this trip,” Clark said. “You may already be acquainted with her from other zoo functions.”

Sylvia rose slightly and lifted a slender arm in casual greeting, smiling and projecting an aura of showmanship.

“We’re both looking forward to seeing you this evening. In the mean time, if any of you have questions or concerns, please feel free to come see me. The bus should be arriving at the hotel in just a few minutes.”

There was a polite smattering of applause as he sat down.

“That’s interesting. Sylvia hardly ever comes,” said Elaine from just over my shoulder. “She’s very busy with her charity work, you know.”

“Kind of like your husband,” I said.

Elaine nodded. Dan, adjusting his hearing aid, frowned in concentration and said nothing. The backs of his hands, I noticed, were covered in faded blue tattoos. I squinted, then recognized the symbols. He must have been in the Navy.

The bus turned another corner a bit too sharply and I slipped sideways a little in my seat.

No one back at the office had said anything about these treks being dangerous. Certainly the editor had neglected to mention that a death occurred on the last one.

I tapped my pen against my chin and the part of me that’s always curious, the part of me that always wants to know why, sat up a little straighter. Probing, getting to the heart of things, was part of my journalism training. Something here on this trip called for closer examination and I had the whole week.

Chapter Three

When we reached our hotel in the city, I drooped with disappointment. The place, sitting on the waterfront, was part of a worldwide chain and looked familiar from numerous television ads. While I hadn’t anticipated or wanted anything too rustic, I did expect at least a bit of local flavor — an older hotel, with period architecture, maybe a veranda. Instead, I followed the others through double glass doors, across thick carpet into a tastefully appointed but unexceptional lobby. The only concessions to locale were the prints on the walls featuring dramatic photographs of ancient ruins and lush scenery. The upside of such modernity, though, meant that every amenity would also be ours. The chlorine scent of a swimming pool prickled my nose.

Our marching orders left no time for scoping out the place or unpacking or flopping onto the big bed in my single room. I did spare a few moments to stand at the window and look out on the water, though. Thinking about the soggy, gray scenery I’d left back home made me appreciate the curl of sunlit blue even more.

“Thank you,
Rochester Breeze
,” I said aloud then kicked back into high gear. Within the allotted half hour I was heading back downstairs, camera in one pocket, cell phone in the other, eager to be off.

Instead of taking the elevator, I opted for the stairs. I was only on the third floor and while there might be time to hit the fitness room or the pool later for some real exercise, a quick sprint downstairs would revive my travel-weary body.

Spinning down the steps and landings, I came to an abrupt halt at ground level. This stairway ended at some back entrance to the hotel. Through the glass of the door, I could see the parking area. And in the parking area, I could see Clark.

He was leaning up against an older, shabby-looking car, conversing with a driver I couldn’t make out clearly. There was someone in the back seat, too, but from my vantage point I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Only one thing was obvious from Clark’s serious, dark look. He wasn’t asking for directions.

As I watched, Clark reached for his wallet, pulled out an impressive wad of bills, and thrust them through the window at the driver. He looked around the vicinity.

Checking for observers?
I wondered, shrinking back a step and fumbling for my camera. I snapped a few quick pictures of Clark and of the car, even as I asked myself why. It was the money thing that made the transaction furtive. The money and the beat-up car and Clark’s anxious expression. Was he up to something? If so, what?

In the space of a few seconds
, I thought,
this job has gotten a lot more interesting
. I’d go bird-watching now, but I’d keep one eye on Clark. He might prove just as intriguing as the boat-billed heron.

• • •

Mart came to stand next to me on the sidewalk as we prepared to head out. I’d hustled down several long corridors to find my way to the front of the hotel and had managed to arrive with time to spare.

“Ready for adventure?” he asked, his manner relaxed and matter-of-fact.

Some of my tension — the stress of travel, spying on Clark, rushing to get here — eased away.

“Yes, indeed. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, we’re really happy to have you along, Ms. Belsar,” Mart said. I could see ginger highlights where the sun glinted on his hair.

“Please call me Allison, Mart,” I said with a smile and he nodded.

“Deal. You know, the zoo uses these trips for several purposes. Of course it’s for publicity, but it’s just as important that we shine a light on the problems and ongoing dangers animals face in our world.” He reached out, touched my arm for just an instant. “Would you be willing to hear about that? Incorporate it into your articles somehow?”

His dark eyes were intent on my face and I knew whatever he wanted to share with me would be heartfelt.

“Sure, that sounds great. I thought I’d look for the tie-in between zoos and the jungle — if there still is one.”

He smiled, as if I’d passed a test, and nodded. “There certainly is. Protecting the endangered. Serving as sanctuary,” he began and I thought at once of the zoo’s mission statement. “We can talk about all that later,” he said, looking around at the crowded sidewalk. “It looks like everyone is here.”

But when we pulled out for the drive north, Clark was not among us. Had he gone off with the guy in the beat-up car? Did Mart know where he was? No explanation was offered for the director’s absence.

As we got underway, Mart had each of us introduce ourselves to the group and give a one-sentence biography. It was a great way to put names to faces and there were plenty of both. I knew some names by now and caught a few more. With luck, I’d get to know everyone by the time the trip was over. Some folks used way more than one sentence to sketch their backgrounds, but the exercise was still a good mixer.

Soon enough, we reached our destination and clustered into an excited bunch, ready to board the boat that would take us down a jungle stream. The hot sun, combined with high humidity, brought a sheen to my forehead as I waited my turn to hop on. I swiped it away with the back of my hand.

“I’m getting really excited now. It’ll be amazing in the rain forest.” I didn’t direct my remark at anyone in particular, but just lobbed it gently over the net. Three young women, traveling together, murmured in agreement.

“Oh, the forest is incredible,” said a bookish-looking man of about forty, wearing a sun hat and shorts. Professor Sheridan Ramsey, I remembered from our mixer. He taught science at Rochester’s nearest university.

He launched into an account of his last trip to the area, delivering details in such a way that the group enjoyed listening. With his dark hair and thick dark-framed glasses, he looked smart but not nerdy.

Clapping his hands, Mart got everyone’s attention. “Keep your eyes peeled, folks, because there’s plenty to see along our route. Hundreds of species of birds, monkeys — even crocodiles!”

One of the young women, a redhead, gasped.

“Better not trail a hand in the water, Faith,” Mart said. He winked, and I wondered whether he’d been kidding about the crocodiles or if the sun was in his eyes.

He handed me into the last of the seats, up at the front between the guide and himself.

The boats were full now and our guide began speaking, giving us a brief history of the sanctuary and describing the highlight to look for.

“The jabiru stork is quite majestic, with a wingspan of eight feet or more. They’re the largest flying birds in the western hemisphere and they nest in the wetlands here,” he concluded.

“That’d be something to see,” Dan said. “Good thing my duck-hunting buddy’s back home. No bird’s safe around that guy.”

The guide bristled. “This sanctuary was created to protect this nesting area,” he told the group, “and the jabirus, which are an endangered species. We take our duty very seriously and your duck-hunting friend would find himself in quite serious trouble, I must tell you.”

“Hunting endangered species is nothing to joke about,” Mart said, not to the group, but to me. He pressed his lips together, eyes scanning the shoreline.

I heard Elaine mutter something to her husband under her breath and from his expression I could guess what it was.

“Look!” Mart called suddenly, pointing.

A huge white bird swooped low over the water just downstream, looking like something from the prehistoric world. All wings and legs, its black head and red-ringed neck clearly identified it as the stork in question.

“It’s gigantic!” someone said, echoing my own thought.

“They can reach a height of five feet,” our guide reminded us.

As our boat neared the point where the bird had landed, I snapped a picture. In the next half hour, we saw every single one of the two hundred species of birds in residence. At least that’s how it seemed, especially with Dan doing his best to mimic their calls.

He might have continued if just at that moment a crocodile lazing in a sunny spot hadn’t trundled into motion from the bank of the stream, entering the water not far off. I was ready, landing a good picture of the animal before he dropped out of sight.

“Time for dinner,” Mart said. “He’ll be looking for a snack. But that’s nature, folks. If our zoo animals were living their natural lives, they’d hunt for chow, too, rather than just waiting for their meals at the feeding station, like we do at a buffet.”

Our group being Midwesterners, the mention of a buffet set everyone buzzing about hunger pangs. Our stop at the visitor center, then, was brief and our wander through the village equally short, allowing just enough time to purchase the native specialty — cashews — for the ride home.

Back in the bus, I flopped onto a seat toward the rear.

Jen slid onto the seat beside me. “Wasn’t that a marvelous place?” she asked, pushing both hands through her tousled hair. “I should have brought my camera, but I didn’t have time to find it in my luggage. I got this great book, though.” She flipped the pages of one of the titles available at the visitor’s center.

“I got a good shot of the crocodile,” I said, poking buttons to scan through my pictures.

Jen took the camera and looked. “Oh, yeah. I like how you can see that big tail. Did you get one of the stork?”

We put our heads together to see the screen. “Yes, and here are those monkeys,” I narrated, pushing more buttons. “And then, oh.”

“What’s this? A practice shot?”

The screen showed Clark in the parking lot next to the beat-up car. You couldn’t see the money in his hand, but I knew it had been there.

“Oh, it’s Clark!” Jen said. She squinted then looked at me. “What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.” I wasn’t about to let Jen know the situation looked suspicious to me. “He probably knows some local people if he’s down on these zoo jaunts all the time.”

“Suppose so.” Jen looked at the photo again. “Huh.” I could hear the question in her voice.

“How well do you know Clark?” I asked.

Before she could answer, Dan hollered across the aisle. “Did I hear you got a shot of that stork? Can I see?” He extended his hand and waggled his fingers.

Dan took my camera from Jen, who had cued up the stork picture. He made appropriate noises of appreciation then scrolled through the rest of the sanctuary pictures.

As he scrolled further, I got nervous. He was bound to see my series of Clark photos. What would he make of them? Would he tell Clark I had been spying on him? Not that I had, of course. Not really.

Reaching across the aisle, I held out my hand and smiled my request. Dan passed the camera back without comment. Shoving it into my backpack, I looked away from him, scanning the scenery.

“I need a nap,” Dan announced.

“Especially if you don’t want to miss casino night,” Elaine said.

Casino night. The welcome party. Would Clark be in attendance? He had seemed enthusiastic about both earlier in the day. And if he always carried around wads of cash like he’d handed over in the hotel parking lot, he might look forward to rolling the dice. No, he wouldn’t miss tonight’s event the way he’d missed this one. I’d be willing to bet on that.